


Frostbite

by pluto



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-25
Updated: 2011-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-28 03:29:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/303241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pluto/pseuds/pluto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a cold, dark night in the Vimmark Mountains, Sebastian finds warmth and temptation where he least expects to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Frostbite

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NoelBlue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoelBlue/gifts).



Sebastian was beginning to regret his insistence on accompanying Hawke into the Vimmark Mountains.

"To tell the truth, Hawke," Sebastian said, "I hadn't planned to spend the night here." He watched Hawke attempt to light a fire with a growing impatience. The howling, bitter cold wind kept blowing out any tiny flame Hawke managed to coax to life. Though Sebastien was doing his best to provide a windbreak, the vicious wind always seemed to find a way around him.

"N-neither had I," Hawke said, teeth chattering. "N-not exactly m-my idea of p-pleasant accommodations. Damn!" He dropped his firesteel with a curse, and groped in the dark for it.

"We could try to head back," Sebastian suggested.

"W-we'd make the foot of the mountain by m-morning a-and then what? Not much help. And we still wouldn't have the damn tome."

"There's got to be a better place to make camp. Perhaps if we--"

"If you say p-p-pray to the M-maker I'm going to hit you."

"I was going to say backtrack a little, but prayer is always an option." Sebastian frowned. "I thought I saw the opening to a cave, about a quarter mile back."

"Oh. And if we don't find it? Or there are d-d-darkspawn? -- Damn the c-c-cold!"

Sebastian looked at his friend with some concern. Hawke was dressed badly for the weather, his armor light and the tunic underneath too thin. The ragged scraps of fur were more decoration than utilitarian. Sebastian wondered if he still had that spare cloak in his pack. "I'm pretty sure I can find it. And we can fight darkspawn. At least that would be warming. If we stay out here I'll be giving you your last rites, soon."

Hawke looked as if he wanted to protest, and then shut his mouth. "H-h-hate to say it, but y-you're right."

They picked their way back down the narrow goat-path they had been following, Hawke shivering violently. Snow--sharp and pointy, almost hail like--began to fall intermittently, pelting at their bare faces. "Wait a moment," Sebastian said, and dug through his pack; he smiled triumphantly when he found the spare cloak. "Put this on."

"Th-thank you."

The cave was just where Sebastian remembered it. It was almost more of a fissure in the mountain face than an actual cave, not particularly deep, and coming to a sharp point at the back, leaving them no fear of darkspawn to surprise them in the night. It was just large enough to offer shelter from the wind if not the harsh temperatures, and Hawke was able to make a fire near the mouth of the cave without too much difficulty. They huddled near it for warmth.

Hawke produced a potion flask from his pack and offered it to Sebastian, who raised his eyebrows. "Are you wounded?"

"Elixir of warming," Hawke said, waving the flask. Sebastian hadn't heard of such a thing. Accepting the flask he discovered why: one whiff and he knew it to be strong Ferelden brandy.

"Thanks, but it's against my vows." He handed the flask back.

"Maker can't hold warming the blood a bit against you?"

"Oh, the Maker can hold plenty against me." Sebastian chuckled. "As is His right. We are all--"

"--Sinners, yes yes. Is there anything fun that isn't against your vows?"

"Serving the Maker is a pleasure unto itself."

Hawke groaned. "If the Chantry is such a blast, then why are you slogging through the Vimmarks with me?"

"Someone must watch over you."

"I've already got Anders and Varric and Fenris and Aveline nursemaiding me about. Only they were smart enough to pass on this little adventure."

"They are hardly good guidance for you, Hawke. You must see this. As Champion of Kirkwall--"

"--I ought to be setting a better example. Right. I didn't ask to be Champion, you know." Hawke took another long draught from his flask, and sighed happily. He pulled Sebastian's cloak tighter around his shoulders. "Much, much better. Now if only a fat rabbit or two would wander in here so we didn't have to eat hardtack and jerky."

"We should try to sleep soon." Sebastian eyed the hard ground. Hawke followed his dismayed gaze.

"Didn't bring a bedroll, eh? I've got one. We'll have to share."

"I can spread out my cloak."

"I'm not going to try anything, Choir Boy. You're not my type."

Sebastian frowned.

"Unless I'm _your_ type." Hawke arched his brows suggestively. The bloom of drink was in his cheeks, and his eyes sparkled with mischief.

"Hardly," Sebastian said, flatly. He looked away, and wished, once again, that they were back in the Chantry.

"I suppose I'm not female and exceedingly holy and dead." Hawke shrugged and began setting out his bedroll. He whistled as he worked, selecting a smooth flat spot not too near the fire, kicking away any loose stones that might poke through the blankets, before finally laying the bedroll out.

"I don't know how you can make light of such things," Sebastian said, suddenly, stopping Hawke in mid-roll.

Hawke gave him a puzzled look. "It was only a joke. Varric swears by Andraste's tits and you don't give him a hard time--"

Sebastian waved him away. "I mean, regarding love and-- attraction. You're as bad as I once was. As lost as I was. Flirting with that apostate, with the elf, that pirate…"

"Bedded them all, too, don't forget," Hawke returned, cheerily.

"I haven't forgotten." Sebastian frowned. "But love, and marriage--"

"--And sex--"

"--These are sacred bonds in the eyes of the Maker…"

"Oh come on," Hawke said, laughing. "Sebastian, now's really not the time to lecture me on my lascivious ways. I swear on Andraste's lovely bottom that I am not going to try to, ah, marry you while you're in my bedroll. Now I'm getting cold again, and I'm tired, and I'm really not in the mood." He kicked the bedroll the rest of the way out, and augmented it with a tattered blanket.

Sebastian frowned, feeling confused and angry. He had always known Hawke's proclivities, and befriended him in spite of them. He still held out hope that Hawke could be brought to a better way. The man was good-hearted. And Sebastian was, as their friendship grew deeper, becoming greatly committed to saving him. That was part, if not all, of the reason Sebastian had made a point of coming with Hawke on this job.

"Fine, sleep on your cloak, then," Hawke said, shedding the cloak in question and spreading it out next to the bedroll. He began to strip off his armor and clothing next, and then, catching Sebastian's critical look, sighed and turned around before finishing the job.

Sebastian unbuckled his own armor and laid it carefully aside. Without looking at Hawke, he said, "I'll share the bedroll. It will be warmer for both of us. And better for you, with your thin Ferelden blood."

"Hey! I've been here six years, nearly."

But Hawke otherwise made no comment, for which Sebastian was grateful. And he kept his back carefully turned as Sebastian joined him, pulling the discarded cloak over them both. He was warm against Sebastian in the tight space. Sebastian closed his eyes and silently said his nightly prayers to the Maker, then willed himself to sleep.

#

Sometime in the night he awoke to feel Hawke violently shivering. The fire had gone out, and the cold had crept in with a vengeance.

Sebastian moved closer to Hawke. By his breathing, Hawke seemed to be still asleep, despite his shaking. With another silent prayer to the Maker, Sebastian rolled over and wrapped his arms around Hawke, pressing their bodies together. Eventually, Hawke's shivering eased, and he relaxed against Sebastian, his breathing slow and easy.

Dimly, Sebastian became aware that Hawke's tunic had been pushed up during the night, and his own was no better. His bared stomach was pressed to Hawke's skin.

"Maker," he breathed. It had been a long, long, long time since he had such intimate contact with another. Despite himself, one of his hands crept downwards, to touch the smooth stretch of warm flesh there.

A shaky breath escaped him. He began to ease back, but another shiver went through Hawke, and guiltily, Sebastian moved closer again. The smell of Hawke was warm and musty, and sent Sebastian's heart skittering in his chest.

"Maker, give me strength," he prayed, "And allow me to ease the suffering of my friend." At his whisper, he felt Hawke stir. He froze until Hawke's breathing became deep and regular again.

Sebastian was not attracted to men. He had experimented, in his reckless youth, of course. And if he admired Hawke--he only admired him for his great deeds, for his easy manner, for his steady friendship. Not in any physical way. Before this moment, he would have never considered--

He refused to consider.

He marched his thoughts through the Chant of Light, trying not to notice as his fingers drew slow, lazy circles over the naked expanse of Hawke's firm stomach. He recited the teachings of Andraste in a voice hardly more than a breath, lips against the back of Hawke's neck, the stray hairs there tickling him. He prayed to the Maker to lead him from temptation even as his body stirred and hardened against the curve of Hawke's buttocks.

He told himself he was thinking of Andraste as he shifted his hips, just once, to rub himself just so…

Hawke groaned a little, half-waking. "Sebastian?" He shifted, touching Sebastian's forearm. "What are you--?"

"You were shivering," Sebastian said, but his voice was hoarse and thick with need. He hoped that Hawke was too asleep to hear. He hastily released Hawke and rolled away. His body burned, and his cheeks more so. "I'm sorry. My praying must have woken you."

"It's all right. Maker, but it's cold. I ought to see to the fire--" Hawke sat up slightly, and then glanced into his lap. He hastily covered the obvious bulge there with the end of the cloak. "Ah, damn. I _was_ having quite the dream. I didn't grope you or anything, did I? After all my promises."

Sebastian stared at the top of the cave, and shook his head, afraid to speak again.

"I'd better have a walk in the cold air," Hawke said. As he shifted away, the cold cave air rushed between them, nipping at Sebastian even through his clothes, emphasizing the hot ache between Sebastian's legs. His blood was too hot for even the wintry chill to cool.

His impulses had always gotten the better of him, and they got the better of him now; before Hawke could fully extract himself, Sebastian grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back down into the bedroll. He drew Hawke's hand to his hardened cock. He heard Hawke clear his throat, abruptly.

"Right," Hawke said, voice suddenly husky. "Praying." He locked eyes with Sebastian, and raised his eyebrows. "Sebastian, not that you aren't devilishly handsome and I would quite happily ah, 'pray' with you, but… are you sure?"

In answer, Sebastian pushed him over onto his belly and moved between his thighs. Hawke laughed in protest. "I don't think so, not without so much as a kiss!" He twisted so that he faced Sebastian. "Or… perhaps not a kiss," he said, as if seeing something in Sebastian's expression. Instead he moved downwards, finding the ties on Sebastian's trousers, pulling them loose.

Sebastian raised his eyes to the roof of the cave, fixing his gaze there. He tangled his fingers in Hawke's hair, pressed him down. Hawke's lips brushed the tip of his cock, and Sebastian shuddered. Then he sank into Hawke's wet, hot mouth.

"Maker forgive me," he gasped, and closed his eyes. "Blessed Andraste…"

He groaned as Hawke tightened his lips, flicking a tongue along the underside of his cock.

"…Forgive your servant his weakness…"

He bucked his hips up, pushing even deeper into Hawke. Hawke's fingers curled around the root of his cock, cupped his balls. Sebastian swallowed a moan, tightening his grip in Hawke's hair.

"…See past the flaws in my mortal soul…"

Hawke's fingertips traced idle patterns on the insides of Sebastian's thighs as he took Sebastian in from root to tip, all but releasing him, tongue curling around his head, before taking him back down. The contrast of his hot mouth and the cold air drove Sebastian to stuttering.

"…Deliver me… from temptation and sin…"

A coil of pleasure tightened in his groin, and he hurried the rhythm of his hips, driving quicker and faster and harder into Hawke's eager mouth. He felt Hawke shift, one of his hands leaving Sebastian's thighs; heard Hawke groan around him, and the sound vibrated through his flesh, tipped him over that edge.

"That I might… come into your… your everlasting… embrace! Oh! Maker!"

He exploded into Hawke's mouth, thrusting as deep as he could go, hips twitching. He pressed Hawke down into his lap, as if he could bury all of himself inside of Hawke's body. Pleasure burned through him, from his twitching cock to the ends of his toes, and he moaned, uncertain if he said Andraste's name or Hawke's. He sagged back against the bedroll, gasping, heart pounding.

As the pleasure ebbed, Hawke eased off of him, kissing his softening flesh and the insides of his thighs. Hawke's smile was lazy, sated.

"Well," he murmured. "Prayer does work. I'm a bit warmer now."

Hawke shifted to lay his head on Sebastian's leg; as he rolled over, Sebastian could see that he had spent himself, too. Lazily reaching over to his pack, Hawke pulled a scrap of bandage from it and wiped his hands and himself off on it. He offered it to Sebastian, and shrugged when he didn't accept.

Sebastian flushed. "I…"

He stared down at himself, at his trousers shoved around his thighs, his smalls torn aside; cock spent; Hawke disheveled in his lap. Hawke's mouth was slicked with spit and slightly swollen, like some whore's, his eyes as hooded and lust-filled as any temptress's in the Blooming Rose.

A slow, dim horror took the place of Sebastian's retreating need.

"I-- what have I done?" His eyes widened.

"Easy, Sebastian," Hawke said, reaching for him. Sebastian struck his hand away, and hastily pulled his clothes together.

"I should never have done this. Why did I--?"

"We only shared a bit of warmth, that's all. Nothing serious."

Sebastian stared at Hawke. "I've broken my vows, and for nothing serious… Maker, I should have known you would tempt me-- when I tried to help you--! I need to…"

A cascade of emotions passed over Hawke's face, ending with his familiar, grim smile, the one he wore when facing down a surprise revenant. "Ah," he said, sitting up. "You're that sort." His voice steadied. He made a gesture reminiscent of a Revered Mother delivering a blessing. "Right, then. It was all a dream, and the Maker forgives you, and et cetera, et cetera."

"Hawke, I--"

Hawke shrugged easily. "Never mind, Sebastian. It never happened. All is well."

Sebastian could feel something slipping away between them, some connection that might have been. A chill in the spaces they had just taken so much effort to warm. He crushed down the part of himself that regretted it, embraced the part that felt nothing but relief. "I… of course. This has been… a lesson from the Maker. A warning. One I must take to heart."

"What? 'Stay away from Hawke, lest he drag you down in the dirt with him? Oh and mind his friends too; they're a lousy lot.'"

Sebastian couldn't quite meet Hawke's eyes. "It ill suits a Champion to mock the Maker's word."

"I… Forget it. Good night, Sebastian; hopefully we'll find that damn tome in the morning."

Hawke lay back down, making a point of leaving a wide space between them. Soon enough, he seemed to be asleep. Sebastian eventually lay down as well; though he whispered a dozen verses from the Litany of Penance, sleep would not come. He felt too cold.


End file.
